


Taking it for the team

by spockside



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Male Friendship, Soccer Moms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockside/pseuds/spockside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake is surrounded by predatory soccer moms. When he volunteers to chaperone the Petunias on a trip to the semifinals, he runs out of ways to say, "No, thanks." And worst of all, he left his lucky pink shirts at home.</p><p>Fortunately, Cougar shows up to save the day, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking it for the team

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colls/gifts).



Jensen gritted his teeth and turned up the volume on the voice inside his head.  
  
"It's for the kids, Jensen, for the kids..."  
  
It wasn't the kidney-killing bounce of the old bus that was bringing out the dark side of Jake Jensen (yes, he does have one, don't even think about testing that). It wasn't the high-pitched chatter of a dozen or so little girls, excited to be heading out to their first semi-finals, a hundred miles from their hometown.  
  
It was the soccer moms from hell.  
  
The bus driver was union and came with the bus service, but the chaperones were all parents or other people connected with the Petunias. If the girls made it to the finals (if? Jake scoffed at that), they'd stay overnight in a cheap hotel and come back to play the next day. So instead of the usual couple of chaperones for a short trip, there were four moms - and Jake.  
  
If it had just been Jake, he would have been fine. Half the girls thought he was the best uncle in the world; the other half accepted him as a staunch, though sometimes overzealous, fan of the team. He knew how to braid hair and also how to get bloodstains out of those pink and white uniforms.  
  
It wasn't that the other chaperones were unpleasant or rude or mean. But of all the moms, aunts, sisters, or other adults involved with the team, why did he have to travel with these four?  
  
These four ever missed a chance to flirt, ogle, and engage in frequent, supposedly innocent, unwanted physical contact. He put up with it because he only saw them at the games and practices and he was a trained officer, dammit.  
  
His only comfort was that he'd have a room to himself if they spent the night.  
  
It was a two-hour drive to the game; Jake had seated himself close to the driver, successfully evading the usual chatter of one or more of the ladies, but dooming himself to road trip boredom. The guy was more close-mouthed than Cougar and he never took his eyes off the road or his hands off the wheel.  
  
Thus the mantra. Once they got to the field he could stretch his legs and hang out with the players and maybe even get a chance to call Cougar or Aisha. Or even Pooch. Somebody he could vent to.  
  
~~~  
There was, of course, little to no cell reception at the soccer facility. Jake had de-pretzeled himself out of the worn bus seat and grabbed his pack (because one thing he'd learned in the Army is that you don't leave your gear in the hands of anyone else). He was first off the bus and stood by to extend a hand to anyone who might need it - anyone under eight years old, anyway. Whenever he spied one of the problem moms he pretended to see something out of the corner of his eye and step away from the bus.  
  
Once the girls were rounded up and shown to their spot in the bleachers for the opening pep talk, he found a spot not far off and tried his cell. Nothing, no bars at all. He shrugged and started digging through his pack for a candy bar or something, and it was then that he discovered his worst mistake.  
  
He had not packed any spare shirts, and the one he was wearing was not a Petunias shirt. He'd made sure his bright Go Petunias! shirts had made it into the laundry yesterday (shirts, plural, yes, he owned three of them) and had folded them and set them next to his pack on the floor next to his bed. And had, apparently, inexplicably, not actually put them into the pack.  
  
The shirt he was wearing was actually a plain white t-shirt; he'd borrowed it from Clay, knowing that none of his other shirts were, shall we say, appropriate for the company of little girls. He wanted to save the pink shirt(s) for the actual event(s) (because of course they'd be back here tomorrow to win the championship). So here he was, in a boring white t-shirt, jeans, black jacket, baseball hat, extra socks and underwear in the pack - and no Petunias gear.  
  
"Crap," he muttered, throwing everything back in the pack.  
  
"Language, dear," said a voice nearby. Miranda, and why was she lurking around? "You're wanted in the stands; Debby needs her hair braided."  
  
He followed her back to the team, more annoyed than ever, but at least he did a great job on Debby's braids.  
  
"It's okay, Uncle Jake," said his niece. "You wear our shirts a lot even when you're not at our practice. Tio Carlos told me. That's gotta count for something."  
  
"It'd better," Jake grumbled, but he gave her a big hug and a swing around and said, "As long as you still love me, I guess I'm all right."  
  
"Don't be such a doofus," she grinned. (It was the only thing his sister could call him in the presence of young ears, so his niece heard it a lot.) Then she shrieked, "Carlos! Carlos!"  
  
Jake thought she'd had some weird adrenalin-induced hallucination, or something, until he followed her line of sight and turned to see a familiar figure coming from the parking lot of the complex. A figure with boots, low-slung jeans, and a battered leather hat.  
  
"Cougar?" He stood there (like a doofus) with his mouth hanging open while his niece ran to her honorary uncle and wrapped her little arms around him in a death grip of a hug. Cougar was grinning when he reached the spot where Jake was standing.  
  
The spot where several ladies had come over to see what the ruckus was.  
  
Jake had always envied Cougar's outward imperturbability, his economy of speech, not to mention the hat, which was perfect on Coug but which would have looked hokey on Jake. His admiration went up several notches when the sniper stopped, looked around at the women, and tipped his hat, saying, " _Buenas dias_."  
  
He then turned to Jake, handing him a brown paper bag without a word while Jake's niece talked a mile a minute to her _tio_. Inside the bag -  
  
"Cougar - " Jake had never wanted to hug a man in public so badly in his life, and he might have done it if he didn't think Cougar would kill him for it later. "My shirts, holy sh - you brought my shirts! Look!"  
  
He pulled them out to show his niece. All three Petunias shirts, clean and ready to wear. He lost no time, but threw his baseball cap on the ground, whipped off his jacket -  
  
\- and was about to peel off the plain white t-shirt when he realized that the soccer moms had turned their curious gaze from Cougar to Jake. Just in time, he cleared his throat and pulled a pink shirt on over the white one, saying, "Thank you, Cougar. You have saved my life."  
  
" _Ciertamente_ ," Cougar murmured. "What time do you start, _mija_?" he asked the young lady, who told him and then dashed off to join the rest of the team to warm up.  
  
"Introduce us to your friend, Jake," said Shelly, one of the moms from his bus. Jake had never seen a better demonstration of the word "simpering" than what she was doing right now. Seriously, did these women make it their life's goal to make men squirm? (And not in a good way. He knew the difference.)  
  
"Shelly, Vicky, Miranda, and Sandy, this is Carlos," he said, keeping it brief. "Carlos - " He swept his arm over the assembled ladies. "These are the soccer moms. At least, for the Petunias."  
  
Cougar nodded to each in turn and they moved a little closer. Jake would have beat a hasty retreat, but of course Cougar didn't react, didn't fade or flinch, just smiled pleasantly. Like a cat greeting a flock of canaries, thought Jake.  
  
"Where do you know Jake from, Carlos?"  
  
"Army," said Cougar. "Long-range targeting."  
  
Which was a nicely vague way of saying that he was a sniper, someone who shot people at a distance on a regular basis. For a living. Fortunately, none of the ladies seemed to either know or care what it meant.  
  
"We'd better get going," said Jake to the moms. "You staying for the game?" he asked the sniper.  
  
" _Si_ ," said Cougar, touched the brim of his hat in farewell, and without another word turned and headed for the bleachers.  
  
Jake gazed after his friend for a moment. With any luck, some of the not-so-subtle attentions he'd been getting might be deflected toward Cougar, who had a tougher hide than Jake (and a better record on evasive maneuvers as well).  
  
He realized that Sandy, Shelly, and Vicky were all looking at him; Miranda was well on her way to the field. He shook himself out of his reverie and followed after her.  
  
~~~  
  
The Petunias, of course, won the semifinals. (It was the shirt, Jake knew, that had brought them the extra bit of luck they needed.)  
  
The chaperones had their hands full getting a bus full of excited little girls loaded, then transported to a local hotel, then herded to the rooms they'd be inhabiting for the next twelve hours.  
  
Once they were all checked in, Jake looked around and found Cougar lurking in a corner of the lobby, watching the mayhem and grinning. Jake stopped himself before he could give Cougar an obscene gesture, settling instead for a mighty scowl as he led his group of players to the elevator.  
  
"You guys better not make too much noise tonight," he said as the elevator doors closed. "I need my beauty sleep."  
  
That got him a laugh (he loved this audience, they were so easily entertained).  
  
"You can borrow my earplugs, Uncle Jake."  
  
"And my eye mask."  
  
"Then you'll be really beautiful."  
  
The ribbing continued as Jake deposited his charges in the correct rooms, hoping they'd stay in them for at least half an hour while he put his feet up. His room was at the end of the hall near the emergency exit, and when he opened the door something made him pause. The same kind of feeling that told him there was someone watching him.  
  
He stepped into the room and shut the door and hissed, "Cougar."  
  
"Jake," came a voice from the other side of the room. Cougar was in a dark corner, almost hidden by the drapes, obviously scoping out the territory, escape routes, that sort of thing. Jake dumped his pack on the bed (the single bed) and went to stand next to the other side of the window.  
  
"Thanks for the save," said Jake. "Not just the shirts, the diversion. Those women, shit, they never quit. You'd think they'd have got the message by now that I'm not interested in any of 'em. Some of 'em are married, for crying out loud, aren't they getting any at home?"  
  
The other man smirked.  
  
"I mean, I am a fine strapping young specimen of manhood," Jake rambled. "But not irresistible. Certainly not on the make, if you know what I mean. I'm not trying to encourage them, you know I wouldn't. Especially not in front of impressionable little girls."  
  
Cougar sidled over to a chair and dropped into it, looking amused.  
  
"You talk a lot," he said. "You don't always say so much, though. _Obras son amores, que no buenas razones_."  
  
For once, Jake shut his mouth and pondered that statement. For about fifteen seconds.  
  
"Actions speak louder than words?" Jake translated. "Meaning what? It's not like I can go on the offensive, here, Coug. I gotta think of the girls, my sister, they have to live in the same town with these predators. And I've used every evasive maneuver in my non-military playbook."  
  
There was a brisk knock on the door; Jake looked through the peephole before opening it, knowing without looking back that Cougar had ducked back into the shadows.  
  
"Hey, Jake," said Miranda's daughter cheerfully. "We've got pizza in our room. Wanna come?"  
  
"Sure!" Jake wasn't one to pass up a meal, even in the presence of ogling eyes. He went out, pulling the door shut and wondering whether Cougar would still be there when he got back.  
  
He was, they played rock-paper-scissors for the bed and Jake won. Cougar camped out on the floor with extra blankets and pillows from the closet, and Jake's pack for a pillow. They'd slept in worse places.  
  
Jake got up a couple of times during the night, just to do random bed checks. Each time, he checked around and saw Cougar in the same place, the same position, rolled up in his blanket nest with his hat over his face.  
  
Jake was rudely awakened by someone pounding on the door to his room. He sat bolt upright in bed, fumbling for his glasses and peering at the cheap clock glued to the nightstand. Then he said a couple of words unsuitable for the company of little girls and flung off the covers, looking around in vain for any sign of Cougar and lunging to answer the door.  
  
Without checking his attire.  
  
Once Jake got the chain off and the door open, he realized his tactical error. There were two of the chaperones standing in the hallway, staring at - well, technically, at Jake, more specifically, at his bare chest. (He spared a split second to be grateful he'd worn his boxers to bed.)  
  
"Um, we're all down in the breakfast room," said Vicky, a smirk starting to spread over her face. "Guess you overslept your alarm."  
  
"Guess I forgot to set it," he mumbled. He was about to make apologies, promise to hurry up, and close the door, when he saw that Sandy was staring *past* him, and he turned his head to follow her line of sight.  
  
There was Cougar, all right. Warm and damp and obviously just out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, another in his hand as he dried his hair with it.  
  
" _¿Que pasa, querido?_ ," said Cougar with a look of blank innocence that Jake had never seen on him. "Ah, _buenas dias, senoras_ ," the sniper added, as if recalling his manners, but he did not duck out of sight, just draped the towel around his neck and came up to stand behind Jake.  
  
Jake heard a female voice in the hallway repeat, softly, incredulously, " _Querido_?"  
  
He collected his thoughts and said to the ladies, "We'll be down in a second. Or two."  
  
Before he could turn around and shut the door, Cougar said, " _Vámonos, muchacho_ ," and gave Jake a playful smack on the ass.  
  
Once the door was secure, he turned on his friend. "Cougar, what the hell - ?"  
  
Cougar just shrugged.  
  
They went down to breakfast, where their presence was required at Jake's niece's table. Jake's ear picked up bits of conversation from other groups.  
  
" _Querido_? Usually it means darling..."  
  
"In a towel, I swear. And there were clothes all over the place..."  
  
"Brought him his team shirts...how domestic..."  
  
It dawned on him what Cougar had been up to. He caught the sniper's eye.  
  
"Cougs," he hissed. "Are you hearing this? The moms, they think we're - I'm - you're my boyfriend. "  
  
Cougar winked at him.  
  
" _Obras son amores, que no buenas razones_ ," he said. " _Verá_."  
  
After the Petunias took the championship and the players were loaded up to go home, Cougar pulled up next to the bus on his motorcycle, waving to the ecstatic and weary team.  
  
"So?" he said to Jake as the latter came over to him. "Better, yes?"  
  
Jake had observed a marked difference in the soccer moms' attitude all day. No passes, no innuendo - well, actually, a little innuendo, mostly involving himself and Cougar. So he thought it only appropriate to throw his arms around his friend, muttering, "Better. You're a genius, man, I owe you."  
  
When he straightened up, Cougar reached up to pat him on the cheek.  
  
"Damn right, _querido_."


End file.
